Not Done
by robinh
Summary: The new routine seemed to be working. But there are still things that were not said. Still feelings that are stirring inside them.


**A/N:** I do not own Marvel's agents of S.H.I.L.D. Marvel does.

This is after 1x15. A mayward fic.

Please tell me what you think, I will appreciate it greatly.

* * *

It takes her two hours to realize that falling asleep is a lost cause. She sighs with frustration, sending an unsure glance towards the right side of the bed. The very _empty_ right side of the bed. _His side of the bed. _She gasps as a strange wave of emotion washes over her_,_ she can almost picture him lying there, like always. She smiles slightly, thinking about the way he used to take so much space next to her. She used to tell him he was much too big as a bedmate. He only shrugged, smiling the insult away and sent a long arm to pull her closer. She always fought first, declaring cuddling is not for her, saying something about how it made her feel tactically vulnerable, and ne never argued, just let her go, reluctantly, and turned on his side to sleep. She spent another hour watching the rhythmic movements of his back before she felt it was safe enough to move closer and hold him around his waist, closing the gap between them. They woke up in the morning in a tangle of limbs, not sure where he ends and she begins, and he didn't say anything about it, just kissed her chastely on the tip of the nose and got up to the shower. She spent a few more minutes, lying on his pillow, letting herself bask for a while in his scent before she finally got up to get dressed too, usually disappeared even before he got out of the shower. She exhales sharply in a desperate attempt to shake off these thoughts of the past. She props herself up in the bed, her eye catching the sight of his empty side again, the tears shows up from nowhere.

She knew it would happen. It was their first lay over since she ended it. The first night away from the bus, in another nameless hotel. She knew that this will be when she wouldn't be able to bury the new situation between them anymore.

It's strange, but it was easier to do on the bus. There, in the crowded and suffocating place, when everywhere she looked there he was, beautiful, strong and silently furious, she could handle it. The others were all around them, forcing the pretence to go on, Coulson's suspicious looks whenever the two of them were in the same room together forced them to put aside all the tension and to work together to make it look good. They held the front well. Like the excellent specialists they were. Their work was not affected, like she promised, they were able to focus on the countless assignments around the bus and to go on with their missions. They were both the epitome of civility and professionalism, and she was proud to see how he managed to keep going without any sign of resentment, keeping his side of the deal meticulously, like they agreed at the beginning. She pushed down the taunting feeling that he was doing it so easily, telling herself it's just another sign of his high skills as a covert operative. The routine won, it looked like they were finally safe, she started to entertain the thought that they actually survived this. She was wrong. Because here, it's a different matter, and she knew it would happen.

They arrived at the hotel relatively late. Like always, they checked in, trying to have rooms on the same floor according to S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol. He always used to stay behind, making some excuse about a security check, threats assessment or whatever, so she could slide him her keycard when nobody sees before they dispersed each to his own room. He showed up a few hours later, joking about wasting SH.I.E.L.D's money on a regular basis on an extra room he never uses, she only shrugged, smiling happily and handing him a glass of Whiskey. They had intense, passionate, exhausting sex then. On the bed, in the shower, one time after a specifically hard mission, when emotions ran high, and bad memories came back with a vengeance, they took each other urgently on the floor and he always stayed the night, mumbling something about the fact that going back to his room will just be another unnecessary exposure. She didn't argue when he claimed possession on the right side next to her. She slept well in those nights. Felt more relaxed, calmer in a way she almost forgot. She told herself it was just the sex. That this is what you get after you burn out some steam. It was a lie and she knew it. It had nothing to do with the sex. It was simply him. Warm and beautiful, lying peacefully in her bed that made her feel so secured.

She sighs again. Sleeping without him is going to be impossible.

()()()

She gives up eventually. Gets out of bed and scrambles for her clothes. She finds a white tee shirt in her bag, and pulls on her hardly used jeans. Ties her hair in a loose bun and leaves the room. Her watch shows two in the morning, with a little luck the bar will still be open. She takes the stairs, not to make too much noise in the night's silence, she hopes no one will be down there.

When she gets to the bar, he's there. Sitting at the bar, nursing a drink. _Damn it. She knew it would happen_. She stands there, rooted to her spot, trying to decide how to continue. He is with his profile to her, and at first it doesn't seem like he'd noticed her. She takes a few moments to look him over, he looks tired. His usual fighter mask is off, black circles around his eyes, shoulders slouched on the counter in… _what is it? Defeat?_ He is wearing his gray tee-shirt and jeans, his hair is all messed up, she suddenly wonders if he came here after fighting with sleep too. She sakes herself out of her stupor eventually, deciding to make a quiet retreat, she turns on her heals to go back, planning to order a bottle of wine to her room or something when she hears his voice.

"You don't have to leave." He says quietly. She exhales audibly when she realizes her silent approach was made. She turns around to watch him carefully.

"I think I must."

He swallows his drink in one gulp before he moves his head slowly to look at her. When he does, and their eyes meet, a strong wave of electricity washes over her. She doesn't miss the fraction of a second when his expression changes and it's obvious he felt it too. But the moment is short lived, when he's doing his best to ignore it.

"Sit down, May" he sighs, moving his attention back to the bartender "she'll have what I'm having, and get me another one, too."

"It won't be necessary" she says, but she's feeling herself moving towards the bar and sitting next to him despite of her forceful declaration.

"You won't sleep with me anymore, and now you won't drink with me either?" he cocks an eyebrow at her, his face full of contempt.

She looks at the bartender, who only looks back at her with indifference, he probably had his fair share of intimate conversations like this before. He looks at her questioningly, holding the bottle. It takes her a few seconds before she nods yes.

She drinks her shot quickly, trying to get this tormenting encounter over as soon as possible. Before she has the time to put down her empty glass, he's already ordering another round.

She downs the second drink as quickly as she can, this time she gets off of the stool as soon as the glass is empty. "I think I'll turn in" she mumbles, moving past him towards the exit.

"Never thought you to be a coward, agent May." He mocks her from behind his back.

She stops in her tracks, her breath caught up in her throat when his voice sounds so hard, so full of resentment. She turns to look at him in alarm, realizing for the first time there are things he is still holding up inside him since their breakup. She sends a tentative hand towards him, feeling the tantalizing desire to touch him for the first time in weeks, but in the last moment she pulls her hand away and takes a deep calming breath, trying to control the big wave of regret that washes over her. He never looks back, just sits there, drinking. It takes her a few more seconds to start breathing again and walk away.

She takes the elevator this time. Her legs are too shaky for the seven floors climb. She stands in front of the steel doors, waiting, cursing her stupid decision to come down here in the first place. Finally the elevator arrives and she walks in. She stands there, waiting for the doors to close but before they do, a strong arm appears in the gap between them, forcing them open. He walks in nonchalantly, without even throwing a glance towards her, and walks to stand behind her leaning on the back wall. They stand there, watching the numbers change slowly, without a word. She can hear him breathing; can feel his presence enveloping her even from a few feet away. She has to fight the urge to turn to look at him, and it's harder than she'd expected.

They reach the seventh floor and she steps out as fast she can, and all but runs towards her room door. She can hear him walking behind her, slowly, making no sign that he's trying to catch up, or make an additional contact. She wonders if she should stop and confront him, but she's too afraid. Her heart races when she realizes that what she feels is real fear. Not of him. Hell, he's the only man in the world she completely trusts, knows he won't hurt her with all the fibers of her being. She's afraid of herself. She's afraid if she'll stop, she would never be able to maintain the newly enforced distance between them.

She reaches her door and pulls out her keycard. Her hand trembles a little when she tries to slide it in, making her release a quiet curse in Cantonese. Without warning his big hand covers her smaller one, which still holds the keycard, and keeping her from proceeding. She doesn't look back. Still doesn't trust herself enough to do so without consequences. Before she knows it he turns her around swiftly, and pushes her against the door.

"Ward..." she gasps when he leans his full bodyweight against her, crashing her hands on the wooden door above her head. He doesn't answer, only looking at her intently for a few charged moments. Then, he kisses her.

He kisses her.

He kisses her.

He moves fast. He leans into her and presses her against the door, his mouth covering hers, swallowing any weak protests she might have. His arm goes under her, gripping her ass, lifting her up, allowing him to drive his pelvis against her. His other arm goes behind her back and sneaks under her shirt, moving on her burning skin, making her shudder. His kisses are urgent, demanding, almost violent. His tongue strong and dominant inside her mouth, his teeth grazing her lips to the point of drawing blood. He devours her. He is strong, his movements so powerful, so intense, so controlling. His kisses full of all the words he needs to tell her but can't. Her hands go to his head, and she pulls at his hair in a way that must hurt, making him growl back, feral, slamming her forcefully against the door and changing his position so that her legs have come to wrap around his thighs. She can feel herself pulling him nearer, perhaps as a reflex, perhaps because she can't bear not to. She opens her mouth to him, whimpering when she feels him stir in his pants against her core.

It's way too dangerous. They are in the middle of the corridor. Any moment somebody might show up, and catch them. She should stop him, stop this lunacy, but she can't. His mouth moves down to her neck, his teeth scraping the delicate skin, his tongue so hot, it almost burns. He kisses her breasts from over her shirt, and the way his mouth is so hot and close, but still separated from her hardened nipples by the fabric, makes her almost scream in need.

She can't breathe, can't think, her entire being right now is this strong beautiful man who is swallowing her whole. She gasps as wave after wave of want and desire runs from all the places he touches to her core. Under her hands, she can feel the strain in his back and shoulders, as he also, tries desperately to survive this.

Suddenly he stops. Drops her back on the floor, and she could have fallen, unless he was still leaning against her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She growls when the unsatisfied want is still burning inside her. And he must feel the same, because it takes a few long moments until he can catch his breath and gain control of the situation.

"I'm not your toy" he whispers.

"What?" she gasps, horrified.

"I'm not your toy" he hisses, moving to look at her, pressing his face into hers, as he holds her by her tee shirt collar. She inhales sharply, his face, the picture of unrestrained fury. "I'm not" he says again, slamming his fist on the door above her head to emphasize his point "you can't just toss me aside when you're done playing." She can't say anything, still overwhelmed by consuming desire. "We're done when I say we're done" he spits finally, before he lets go of her shirt and pushes himself off of her. He turns his back to her and walks away to his room at the end of the hall as she's sliding against the door, and dropping to the floor, her legs finally give out. When she hears his door closes behind him, she realizes she's still shaking.


End file.
